Lullaby for the Lonesome
by arrowsroot1918
Summary: Needing a place to stay Addyson Briggs turns to an old army buddy of her dad's for help. Problem is that the brilliant Sherlock Holmes is determined to prove she is not who she says she is. Though she might just prove to be more important in his life than he imagined. The more they get to know her the more John realizes he might not know his old army buddy as well as he thought.
1. Prologue

It was a grey and dreary tuesday morning, rather typical for London these days, despite it being mid July. Further evidence of that damn climate change the handsome man on the six o'clock news was always carrying on about. Mrs. Hudson was sitting alone in her flat with some of the biscuits Sherlock had picked up from her favourite bakery- his way of apologizing for shooting more holes into her wall upstairs. This was the third time this month he had bought her biscuits to make up for something. It was getting to the point where she didn't even bother threatening to increase his rent anymore.  
She learned shortly after he moved in that it was just better not to ask questions- it was just safer that way. Sherlock always found a way of sorting things out in the end, but it was just easier to avoid that messy middle bit if you simply ignored his quirky, if not erratic and at times volatile, behaviour.  
Thankfully there was a gruesome murder over in the west end and the handsome older fellow from Scotland Yard had requested Sherlock's assistance. John was sitting upstairs watching some telly, sulking, after he and Sherlock had another row about something or another Sherlock had done.  
Those two. What a strange pair they were. They argued like an old married couple and yet insisted there was nothing between them.  
Oh there were times when she'd believe them, but then again there were times like this where she just wished they would kiss and make up already, everything was always so unbearable when John and Sherlock were fighting.  
Mrs. Hudson was getting ready to start the third hour of her typical Wednesday afternoon routine- knitting in her armchair in front of the telly with a tray of tea and biscuits- when there was a knock at the front door.  
Reaching for the remote, she muted the telly and waited to hear if John had heard the door. Silence. Then there were another three rapid knocks against the small black door. Setting aside her knitting, Mrs. Hudson walked out of her flat towards the door and opened it.  
To her surprise she found a soaked young woman in a tan trench coat. It was impossible to determine what colour her hair was with the state it was in, leaving puddles on the front stoop where she stood.  
"Hello," She greeted Mrs. Hudson cheerily enough. "Is this 221 B Baker Street?"


	2. Chapter 1

It was a grey and rainy day in London, and Addyson Briggs was starting to wonder if there was ever any other kind of London day. She had been back for no more than a month after a three year absence, and the rainy weather she had once found comforting was now driving her looney. All it did was rain, or so it seemed. She had spent he entire life in England, save for a couple months during Uni where she'd travel for classes. And the rain had never bothered her, except for now. She had just spent two years in Guatemala and another year on the Eastern Seaboard of the United States, and right now all the rain did was put her in a right foul mood.

She missed the sun and the heat of Guatemala; she missed her friends in Washington and Virginia. Here she had no one. She had no boyfriend, no friends, and no place to live. She was trying to alternate between staying with her parents and her brother while she looked for a flat in the city, because while everything else was going to hell in her life, she did have a job. It was actually the job offer that brought her back to London after living all those years abroad.  
Unfortunately, her new job was in the city and her parents were settled comfortably in the same house where she had spent her childhood in the heart of Somerset; the commute would be too much for her to manage not to mention the thought of living at home after everything she had bee through made her near suicidal.  
So here she was, grasping at straws, desperate for a place to live. Her sudden trip to Guatemala and DC had eaten up what little savings she'd had, and it wasn't exactly as though she had made a lot from either of those jobs, they had been more about making a name for herself in the field rather than making a profit.  
She was becoming desperate. Everywhere she had seen either looked like a crack den, or was way out of her price range. Finally her parents suggested she look up an old army buddy of her father's who was living in the city. They hadn't spoken to him in years, not since her father's accident. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and Addyson was becoming very desperate.  
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked the address her father had texted her. She was looking for a 221 B Baker St. Using her hand to shield her eyes from the droplets of rain running down her forehead from her bangs she scanned the street numbers for 221 B. She was on Baker Street, of that much she was certain.  
"Let's see," she mused, "217, 219, ah here we are, 221B- where is A? She puzzled. Maybe A was the sandwich shop to the right of the door. She stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs. The rain began to pelt her even harder but she couldn't do it. How could she just show up on a strangers door step and beg him to take her in as a flatmate.  
"But he isn't a stranger," she heard her mothers voice in her head, " you know John."  
Barely. She though to herself. She had only met John a few times when she was a teenager still living at home. The thought of living at home again caused a shudder to roll through her entire body. That was not an option.  
Finally, with her courage renewed, she rapped on the door in three quick motions. She waited, straining to hear if there was any movement from within the flat.  
She hoped her father had remembered to call John and tell him she was coming, otherwise she feared she would be a most unfortunate surprise for the former Captain. When no one came she tried again with three quick knocks.  
Shortly after that the door opened and there stood a very surprised older woman.  
"Hello," Addyson in her friendliest, cheeriest, 'please don't slam the door in my face' voice. "Is this 221 B Baker Street?"

Unfazed by her presence Mrs. Hudson only nodded. Sherlock's business had been doing well enough since his return - nowhere near what it had been before he faked his death, but well enough- but the vast majority of their cliental were somewhat foppish looking middle aged men, not beautiful young women in their twenties. She suspected that this would be one client that, if Sherlock did not, John would be eager to take on.  
"I'm looking for Dr. John Watson," She explained with the same cheeriness as before, "he's," she paused looking for the right word, "an old friend."  
Just as Mrs. Hudson was about to respond John came down from upstairs, after hearing voices at the door. "Addyson?" He looked pleasantly surprised to see the girl.  
"Doctor Watson," Her face lit up, when she saw him, glowing like an autumn sun. "How are you?"  
"I've been well," he smiled awkwardly at her, "please come in, you must be soaked to the bone." He extended his arm and Mrs. Hudson moved so the girl could come in.  
"Thank you," she thanked them both before removing her dripping coat. She looked from John back to Mrs. Hudson and then back to John again.  
"Ah, right," John nodded quickly remembering his manners. " Mrs. Hudson I'd like you to meet Addyson Briggs." He extended his arm towards Addyson as if Mrs. Hudson might be confused as to who he was referring to. "Her father is an old friend of mine. We served in the Fusiliers together a long time ago, not to mention he taught me everything I know about being a doctor."  
Mrs. Hudson smiled politely at the girl, "Lovely to meet you dear," She extended a hand towards the girl.  
"Addyson, this is my Land lady, Mrs. Hudson. She owns the building." John explained.  
"Likewise," Addyson pushed away some of her soaked hair before taking the older woman's hand.  
"Why don't you get settled upstairs and I'll bring you up some warm towels to dry off with, and I think I still have a couple scones from yesterday- if you're feeling a bit peckish. I doubt John has had time to do the shopping for the week" Mrs. Hudson offered before disappearing back into her flat.  
"She certainly is lovely," Addyson smiled looking back up where John stood on the fourth stair. She hadn't realized it but she hadn't seen him in almost ten years. It was hard to believe so much time could go by and yet he looked like he hadn't aged a day.  
"Mrs. Hudson? John asked, "Oh yes, she's wonderful, just wonderful. I'm sorry, but I thought your dad mentioned that you were coming on the 17th."  
"Doctor Watson," She looked at him unsure what else to say.  
"Today is the 17th, isn't it?" He asked bashfully.  
She nodded slowly, trying to smother the smile already tugging at the corner of her lips.  
"Bugger," John cursed. "Well, shall we go upstairs?" He ushered up the stairs. Addyson nodded and followed his lead. She noted the unusual shade of green that coated the walls before walking into the flat. She fell in love with it immediately. It had a cozy, lived in feel to it that screamed ' you're home' to her. She looked around trying to find any obvious trace of an existing flat mate, and was delighted when she found none.  
John offered her a cup of tea from the next room, " just the thing to warm you up." He smiled handing her a rather large white mug.  
Addyson accepted it graciously and sat down in a large plush chair.  
"Ah, not there!" John cried out quickly turning to face her.  
Addyson stood up quickly and looked back down on the chair to see if she accidentally sat on something. She figured from the worried tone of John's voice she just sat on his new born child.  
"That's Sherlock's," John mumbled as he pulled out the couch for her to sit on.  
"Who is Sherlock?" She asked innocently, trying to hide the potential disappointment in her voice.  
John struggled for a moment as he tried to think of the right words to describe his relationship with Sherlock. "We'll I guess I would say he is my partner, of sorts. He's also my best friend." He paused for a minute and smiled to himself. He knew what he was saying was true, but it still sounded funny to be saying Sherlock Holmes was his best friend.  
"Oh John," she said in a soft voice, reaching out to squeeze his hand. " I am so happy for you," she said grinning from ear to ear, " you know mum always suspected- I never paid much attention to it but-"  
" I'm sorry, suspected what?" John asked quickly, his voice tight and squeaky like he already knew but didn't want to hear it.  
"Oh, it's nothing to be ashamed of," she said quickly, trying to reassure him that she was cool with his life choices. " I mean who hasn't experimented with sexuality these days- it's perfectly acceptable."  
"Addyson," his voice was firm and clear, much like an officer giving orders to a private.  
In that moment she was reminded of the young army doctor she met years ago when she was only a teenager. A young man in search of excitement, but with a kind heart, fresh from medical training, ready and willing to serve his country and to save his brothers in arms. How different that man seemed from the man sitting across from her now.  
Now that she had the time to take a good look at him she realized just how wrong she had been earlier. She barely recognized Captain John Watson. He was no longer as care free and joyful as he had been when he was her age.  
The pain of loss and suffering were permanently etched in the line of his face,most notably around his mouth where he would have been forced to smile. A smile that says ' I'm fine- really, while his eyes screamed the truth, that despite what the smile might suggest, everything was, in fact, not fine.  
The horrors he witnessed in the course of his duties were locked away behind the mirrors of his eyes, tucked away just out of sight to the outer recesses of his mind. Untrained eyes could miss it easily, but Addyson knew better, for her eyes were well trained in this department, very well trained. All she had needed was a closer look.  
She had witnessed horrors of her own, working in Guatemala- horrors she often wondered if she would ever forget, somehow she doubted she ever would. For two years she had been exposed to the very worst humanity had to offer, and that was not something you just recovered from.  
"John, it's alright. I won't tell anyone if you don't want it getting out. But you have a right to be happy, and you shouldn't have to hide who you are, or who you love for that matter just to satisfy societal conventions."  
"Addyson," John repeated again, this time he was more agitated and frustrated than anything. " I'm not gay!" He practically shouted at her. "Sherlock is my business partner, we work together." He rushed the last sentence after taking a look at the alarmed and embarrassed look on her face.  
"I'm so sorry," she said looking down a the ground, unable to meet his eyes at the risk of bursting into tears. She had to work past this little problem she had with yelling, " it's just when you said partner I thought you meant..." She didn't want to finish that sentence and revel in her own stupidity. Of course he had meant business partner, she didn't know what she was thinking. Then again, yes she did know what she was thinking, but she pushed it from her mind choosing not to dwell on the past.  
"No, no, it's alright," John said quickly trying to smooth things over. " I shouldn't have used the word partner, very ambiguous term." He held his hands firmly clasped together in his lap, his right leg jiggling as he awkwardly changed to subject. "So what brings you to London? Surely not concerns over my sexuality," he let out a forced chuckle as he tried to make light of their current unpleasantness.  
"No, of course not!" She said feeling more than a little flustered. 'Kill me now,' she thought to herself. If there really was a God, and if he really was as merciful as Sealy always said he was, then he would strike her dead right now so she wouldn't have to endure this awkwardness of her own making. Why oh why did she have to open her big mouth.  
"Well I would hope not," Watson shifted with an uncomfortable smile on his face.  
"I got a job, right here in the city." She said in a 'surprise! I'm not a total idiot' kind of way. "It pays decently too," she added as an afterthought. She needed to subtly let him know that her request would be short term, very short term.  
"That's fantastic, Addyson!" John smiled warmly at her. And just like that, Addyson knew that her earlier blunder was forgiven. "Are you going to be living with that boyfriend of yours? What was his name? A something. Alex, Allister, Andrew.."  
"Adam," she said quietly. " His name is Adam."  
John saw the smile fall from her face, and clouds grey her clear blue eyes. "It's just the last I heard you two had bought a place in the city together," he added quickly.  
"We did, three years ago." She said with as little emotion as possible. "Shortly before we broke up." She added carefully. It wasn't so much of a break up as her heart was ripped out and she wound up emotionally damaged to the point where she was crazy enough to accept a colleagues offer to go and work in Guatemala for two years.  
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," John's brow furrowed. He met Adam a couple of times back when Addyson still lived at home. He was a handsome young man, plenty smart too, he and Addyson seemed like the perfect match. They had been together a long time too, he wondered where it went wrong.  
"If you don't want to talk about it that's fine." He added when he noticed her reading his expression, fearing she could read what passed through his mind much the same way Sherlock often did. Then again, Sherlock's was a rare skill, one that very few possessed.  
"It's alright," she shrugged as nonchalantly as she could manage. "It was three years ago. I was unemployed at the time and looking for work. I came home early one day after a job interview, opened the door and found him in the legs of another-"  
" Addyson," John let out a long exhale after a sharp brake of breath. " I am so sorry he was with another woman. That must have been very hard for you."  
She couldn't help it. She started to laugh. She couldn't stop it either. There she sat, on Dr. John Watson's couch, soaking wet, laughing hysterically like some kind of mad woman.  
"I'm sorry," she apologized after she caught her breath. " It's just picturing in the arms of another woman," she chuckled again, " I wish it was that simple. No, Adam was with another man." She explained. "His 'business partner' Rick. They're still living in the apartment, after I sold my share to Adam. They got married last year and are expecting a baby girl from Thailand next month. Mum still keeps in touch with his parents," she explained quickly.  
Now it was John's turn to feel embarrassed, he couldn't imagine what it must have been like for her to come home and find the man she loved in the arms of some one else. A member of the same sex no less, it must have been devastating for her. He opened his mouth several times, like a fish, knitting his eyebrows together as he tried to find what exactly he could say to her.  
He wanted to offer her his condolences but then again was that appropriate after three years? Were her and Adam friends now? Did she hate him? As someone older, and a friend of her fathers, he wanted to offer her some kind of profound wisdom to help the situation. Instead 'where are you staying then?' Was what he ended up blurting out.  
It was now or never. This was the time to ask John what she had come here to ask. She took a couple deep breaths and braced herself. This was in no way the way she had imagined asking him, after one awkward moment after another.  
No, she had imagined them laughing as they relived memories and sharing stories then she would casually let it slip that she needed a place to live and he would make the offer- but that was all just a dream now. She opened her mouth the say something when the door flung open downstairs, hurried steps sounded in the staircase and a man entered the room holding a skull and a bag with what appeared to be a human liver. He had thick dark curls, the most piercing stare she had ever seen, it was though he looked through you rather than at you, and a long thick coat and navy scarf shielded his long lean frame from the elements.  
"Ah Addyson, I would like you to meet my friend and flatmate, Sherlock Holmes." John said standing up, his hand rehashing out towards Sherlock,as if she couldn't figure it out for herself.  
She barely heard what John said though, all she could focus her attention in was what was in the bag in his left hand. "Is that human?" She asked looking from the bag to its holder and back again several times.  
" Molly lent it to me this afternoon for an experiment ," Sherlock explained as though she knew who Molly was already, " belonged to a 55 year-old alcoholic chain smoker who died of heart failure last night." Sherlock explained before looking over to Addyson and John.  
He examined the startled and slightly annoyed look on John's face, clearly Sherlock had just intruded on some kind of intimate moment of sorts. He looked over at the girl. She was younger than him by at least six to eight years. That put her in her late twenties early thirties. She was pretty, from what he could tell, with her wet auburn hair, slender figure, and wild eyes - pretty was exactly John's type. "Bit young for you, isn't she?" He looked over at his friend.  
John blushed. He knew that he had a few girlfriends since he met Sherlock, but did everyone have to assume that he was interested in every woman he associated with? Really? "It's not like that" he tried to explain, but Sherlock had already lost interest. "Addy, Sherlock. Sherlock this is Addyson Briggs, she's an old friend from back in my army days."  
Sherlock could not be bothered to look up for something as boring as manners when there were so many more interesting things going on under his microscope. Still he knew it would upset John, so in an attempt to be complacent he waved absently in the girl's direction.  
"He's a little rude," Addy whispered to John a they sat back down.  
"Try living with that on a daily basis" John joked.  
Addyson laughed before chewing on the corner of her lip. That was that. Game over. John had a flat mate, and there was no room for a third in the apartment- she was not going to be a squatter, she would rather be homeless. There was no point in bringing it up now. She would just have to play off the visit as a desire to look up an old friend and catch up. The she would leave quietly, drown her sorrows in an ice cream sundae and figure it out from there.  
She would just have to tell her parents the truth when they asked why it didn't work out with Dr. Watson, she would probably also have to pass up on her job too if she couldn't find a place to live. Maybe she should just move back to the States, maybe coming back home was a mistake after all.  
After having already formulated some clever excuse as to why she suddenly had to leave, her mobile began to ring. Painfully aware that all eyes were now on her, Addyson answered the chirping phone.  
It was her mother.  
As discreetly as possible Addyson turned her back to the two men whose living room she now stood and spoke in a hushed tone.  
"Yes mother, I'm here right now. Yes mother, I told him. Yeah, he knows about Adam and Rick. No, I didn't ask him."  
This piqued John's attention. Clearly Addyson was was talking about him, but what was she going to ask him...and then it clicked. It all made sense. Why now his old medical instructor called him out of the blue saying his daughter was popping by for a visit, why she was so on edge, and so interested in his and Sherlock's relationship- she needed a place to live in the city.  
His realization was cut short as Addyson raised her voice trying to get her mothers attention.  
"Mother, mother...MOTHER," she snapped into the phone.  
Susan must have been on one of her rants. John remembered her well, it was next to impossible to get a word in with Susan once she got started on something.  
Addyson gave an exasperated sigh of defeat and handed the phone over to John.  
"She wants to talk to you." She mumbled. " I'm so sorry about this." She added as he took the phone in hand.  
"Ah, hello Susan." He said trying to sound cheery. Immediately her high pitched voice began to natter in his ear, reminding him of one of the birds he saw on those nature shows on the telly.  
His speech began to resemble Addyson's seconds earlier.  
"Yes, Addyson mentioned that, you must be so proud. Well no, she didn't ask, but she hasn't been here long enough to really say much. Because, it's not really something you just blurt out after five minutes of seeing someone. Well yes I know it's difficult finding a place here in the city but-" Before he could say anything else Sherlock interrupted.  
"No, absolutely not!"  
"Who was that?" Susan asked immediately. " Do you already have a flatmate John? Because I won't have Addyson living with two unmarried men. One is bad enough, but there is such an age difference between you two.  
'It's not that big of an age difference.' John thought bitterly to himself. He was really starting to wish everyone would stop pointing just how much younger Addyson was.  
" Living with two unmarried men in the city? What would the neighbours think?" Susan carried on.  
"Susan. Susan," John said raising his voice, much like how Addyson had before handing the phone over to him. " I'm telling you Sherlock would not be a problem for Addyson, I'm sure they'd get a long no problem." He forced a smile as he looked over in their direction.  
Sherlock and Addyson were standing in the corner arguing. He could only catch snippets of their heated whispers, but it seemed as though they were arguing over his skull.  
Okay, so maybe there would be a small problem here and there, but overall it could be quite nice having a woman stay with them. True, there was Mrs. Hudson in 221A, but she didn't really live with them.  
" He could be a sexual deviant," Susan gasped at the horror of the very idea.  
John lost his composure and laughed. " Sherlock? A sexual deviant?" He choked back the laughter, but it wasn't easy. "He's practically as virginal as the mother Mary."  
Addyson stopped what she was saying mid sentence and looked at Sherlock. She noticed how his hand and shoulders tensed as he rolled his eyes when John spoke. She said nothing, until he returned his gaze back to her and they resumed their argument.  
All she had said was that the skull had interesting muscle markings. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say to Sherlock. He snapped at her for handling his skull, which was more 'precious than the empty one sitting on her shoulders'.  
He did not find her retort about skulls sitting on the C1 vertebra not the scapula funny.  
Her heart went out to John. Arguing with her mother was not an easy task, she would know. She had years of experience trying to talk to her mom- it never ended well. Although, from what she could catch of their conversation, it almost sounded as if John was arguing for her to live with them.  
" I'm telling you Susan Sherlock would not be a problem."  
"Knock, knock," Mrs. Hudson chirped, appearing at the doorway. "Finally found those scones." She handed a plate of scones and a few warm towels to Addyson for her hair. "Sorry it took so long. The post man arrived and we got to chatting." She smiled at Addyson before turning to Sherlock.  
"Sherlock dear," she began, but noticing the bag on the table. "Is that a liver?" She shrieked.  
"What about a liver?" Addyson heard her mother screech on the other end of the phone.  
"Not liver, live here." John covered up immediately. "That's just the land lady, Mrs. Hudson. She's just so excited that Addyson wants to live here. I told you Susan, Sherlock won't be a problem for Addyson. Youbwant to know why? Why...Because...because...BECAUSE SHERLOCK IS GAY!" John shouted as the idea finally came to him.  
All eyes turned turned to John in the now silent flat.  
Addyson noticed Sherlock shoot her a look before going back to his microscope, seemingly uninterested in John's blatant lie.  
"Yup, gay, that's Sherlock." John smiled at his little victory, only to be handed another curve ball.  
"Well no, rooms won't be a problem because," he sighed. He knew before the words escaped his lips that for whatever reason he really wanted Addyson to move in, because the words he said next were the exact ones he had been denying for so long. "Well rooms wont be a problem because...I'm gay too. Yep, me and Sherlock are gay- together. Just one big happy gay couple." He said trying to sound as chipper and flamboyant as possible.  
Again, all eyes were on him. Addyson said nothing as she looked around the room trying to gage everyone else's reaction.  
Sherlock seemed to be slightly amused but not in the way one might expect; Mrs. Hudson leaned over to Addyson and whispered, "I always had my suspicions" while patting her arm; while John looked rather proud of himself albeit with a slightly pained expression given his earlier conversation with Addyson.  
"Well I'm glad you agree Susan, and that you are alright with this. Yes, we will have to have a dinner some time. Say hello to Arthur for me. Yes, I'll pass on your love to Addyson. Good bye."  
John turned and faced the room. "Well there is no doubt now, you are moving in. I just became gay for you," he gave her a teasingly warning look.  
"You didn't have to do that," she mouthed. Never in her life had someone done something like that for her. She was touched by John's actions.  
"Yes, yes I did." John smiled at her, " it'd be nice to have an extra face at the breakfast table, might make for a little bit more normal round here," he chuckled over in Sherlock's direction.  
Addyson flinched at the word normal. It was a word she had heard her entire life, but it was never one that directly applied to her.  
"What's is about a new tenant then?" Mrs. Hudson asked once the room quieted down after the earlier excitement.  
"Ugh, right." John took Addyson by the hand and stepped towards Mrs. Hudson. "We were wondering if it was all right if Miss Briggs lived with us for a while at 221B. She's new to the city and has no where to live." John explained hastily, only tripping over his words once or twice.  
"I have a job, and I can pay rent, starting next week!" Addyson added quickly once she noticed John starting to flounder.  
Mrs. Hudson looked from one face to another and back again. "We'll it's all right by me, what with the economy the way it is, who can afford saying no to an extra rent cheque each month?" Mrs. Hudson shrugged, "my only concern is- where is she going to sleep?"  
Excellent question, Addy thought. Where was she going to sleep? Now that she knew about Sherlock she somehow doubted there would be a third room available for her. Reading her mind John turned and searched her face for any trace of an idea in her expression. She returned his look.  
Unfortunately, no matter how hard he racked his brain, no ideas came to mind aside from, "well there is always the couch. Addyson could take my room and I'll sleep on the couch."  
"John, no!" Addyson exclaimed. "There's no way I could ask you to do that, not with your shoulder injury. I would be here just short term, a couple months at most, until I get myself established here and can afford a place of my own. I'll take the couch," she offered.  
"Absolutely not," John argued. "A lady needs her privacy, take my room, and I'll take the couch."  
"John don't be ridiculous" she argued, " I'm younger, the lack of support offered by the couch cushions will bother me less than it will you. I'm taking the couch.  
"Enough of this!" Sherlock yelled, slamming his fist down on the table beside the microscope, causing several objects on the table to rattle.  
"Ah, see," John pointed in his friends direction. "Sherlock agrees, it would be foolish to put you on the couch."  
"No," Sherlock responded in a clipped tone. "Enough talk of a third tenant. I already said absolutely not, although everyone seems to have forgotten I had an opinion on the matter." He stormed into the room, abandoning his microscope and whatever it was he had been examining. "As the primary renter, and the tenant who has lived here the longest, I am saying she is not living here. That's final." He ignored Addyson entirely and glared at John as he towered over him.  
John was about to say something when Mrs. Hudson piped up.  
"You may be the primary renter Sherlock, but I still own the building. And as the owner, it is up to me who lives here or not. And I believe I lready told Miss Briggs that she may live here for the time being." She didn't raise her voice the same way Sherlock had, she simply spoke to him like a mother scolding a troublesome child.  
Addyson couldn't believe it. Twice in one day. That was twice now that someone, she barely knew, stood up for her, arguing for her to live there on Baker Street. Perhaps this really was the fresh start she had hoped it would be.  
Mrs. Hudson turned to face Addyson, "although really dear, you should probably find somewhere other than the couch to sleep.  
Addyson smiled, when an idea hit her. "Mrs. Hudson, was I correct in seeing another door when I walked in? Marked 221C?" She asked excitedly.  
"Well yes dear," Mrs. Hudson answered as though she had forgotten about the other flat. "But you won't want that. It more of a large storage area than a flat, and it's riddled with black mould."  
"Can I see it?" She asked excitedly.  
"But of course," Mrs. Hudson replied slightly stunned that someone would want to see a closet sized room with mould. "Let me just go down and get the key."  
They followed Mrs. Hudson, including Sherlock surprisingly enough, down the flight of stairs and waited as she went into her flat to retrieve the keys. Seconds later the four of them had crammed themselves into the small room.  
Mrs. Hudson wasn't lying when she said it was small. The four of them fit in the room comfortably, but anymore people and it would be a very tight squeeze.  
For Addyson alone however, it was perfect. She could fit in a small bed in the corner along the far side of the room, and maybe a desk along the wall beside the door. It's all she really really needed at home. The rest of her stuff would fit in her office at work, and she could store the cases for her cameras in the closet, and it wasn't like she had many clothes. Not to mention they could knock out a wall to open it up a bit more and with a little bit of work she was certain the bathroom would become functional again.  
"I'll take it," she said eagerly turning to face Mrs. Hudson and John, both of whom looked rather astonished. "It's perfect," she looked at John as she spoke. "You see I'll convert this entire area into a bedroom and ensuite bathroom. That way neither of us have to sleep on the couch and I'll do everything else upstairs with you and," she turned to face Sherlock, who gave her a somber but all together vacant expression. " him," she motioned to Sherlock, but the excitement in her voice was gone.  
"But what about all the mould?" Mrs. Hudson made a face as she looked around.  
"I know a guy, a carpenter, he'll do all the refurbishing down here- for free."  
Mrs. Hudson was so happy at the prospect of finally renting out 221C and getting rid of all that blasted mould, for free, she offered the room to Addyson for a reduced rate.  
"And this way I'll only be on your couch for a couple weeks tops," she explained happily to John. Finally, everything was actually working out.  
"This will be bad for business," Sherlock grumbled once they were all seated comfortably in their living room.  
"What will be? Having Addyson spend her nights on the couch?" John asked, embarrassed by his friends apparent lack of manners.  
"She won't be sleeping nights, she sleeps during the day, after being out all hours of the night. Tell me, how am I to run my business with you lounging about all day on my couch?" He asked Addyson sharply.  
She felt her temper start to flare up. She did not appreciate his insinuations that she was lazy. He hardly knew her to be making those kinds of assumptions.  
"And what exactly, Mr. Holmes, makes you think I just lounge about all day?" She asked through gritted teeth.  
"I don't think. I know. The same way I know that you've just recently returned from a trip abroad, a very long trip- Central or South America if I had to guess, with a brief period in the States. Am I wrong?" He asked narrowly.  
" I did just return to England," she admitted. "I worked in Guatemala for a couple years before joining some colleagues in the states.  
I was offered a position here based on the work I had done over the last couple years and moved back.  
And yes, I am out very late at night, but that is because of my work. Unfortunately I work night shifts at the moment but I am trying to switch to day shifts.  
As for your business I guarantee I will not be a problem. I only sleep for a couple hours at a time- the joys of insomnia- so despite my late hours I will still probably be up earlier than you most days.  
However if that is not to your liking then may I perhaps suggest you get an office like most people with their own business these days."  
Sherlock said nothing while John and Mrs. Hudson merely stared at the so of them. It was very clear that these two were only getting started. Like so many others before her, Sherlock seemed to enjoy butting heads with Addyson, only Addyson appeared to butt back.  
"So what is it you do exactly?" Mrs. Hudson asked turning to face Addyson, in an obvious attempt to steer the conversation back to comfortable territory.  
Addyson couldn't tell them what she did for a living. Her mother warned her, not to tell anyone under any circumstance the nature of her work unless she wanted them to look at her like she was some kind of freak. Then again the human liver sitting on the table suggested that these were it the kind of people her mother was referring to. Addyson didn't want to push her luck though. Twice now someone had fought for her right to live there, and she didn't want to ruin it by freaking them out with her 'disgusting little hobby,' as her mother called it.  
"I'm a photographer of sorts," she forced a smile- it was not a lie. It was not the entire truth, but it was not a lie.  
"Oh, how nice," Mrs. Hudson beamed," you look like the artistic type. Would I have seen any of our work in the magazines?" She asked friendly enough.  
"Not that kind of photographer," Addyson admitted sheepishly. Her embarrassed tone suggested not to push the issue any further- that was the most they were going to get out of her.  
Addyson left shortly afterwards. She had one more night in the hotel she was staying at. Tomorrow she would move the few things she had with her in the city in to the flat, and after the upcoming weekend she would bring the rest of her belongings she had in storage at her parents. All in all it was a wonderful, if not slightly awkward, day.

After waving good-bye to Addyson, John marched up the stairs. "Could you have been any ruder to her?" He demanded once his eyes caught sight of Sherlock sitting in the living room toying with his violin.  
"Hmm?" Sherlock murmmerd lazily, turning to face John. "Oh right, the girl. I have no time for idiots John, especially ones associated with the sex trade."  
"The what?!" John choked on his glass of water.  
" the sex trade," Sherlock repeated impatiently. " what? You didn't actually believe her bit about being a photographer did you? What kind of photographer works at night?"  
John hated to admit it, but he couldn't think of any. That didn't mean Addyson was selling herself every night. "She is not a street walker Sherlock. I know her father. And 'ballistic Briggs' would never let his youngest daughter be a street walker."  
"Perhaps," Sherlock said lazily, he was clearly growing bored of their conversation. The sooner he made John see that he was right the sooner he could move on to something far more interesting. "Maybe she isn't in the sex industry, the porn industry is a more likely scenario. Would certainly make more sense why she lied about being a photographer."  
"She isn't a porn star!" John yelled out in frustration. He did not know why, but Sherlock clearly had it out for the girl. "She is probably exactly what she says she is, and you're just upset because she touched your stupid skull."  
"People are very rarely what they say they are," Sherlock pointed out ignoring the jab about the skull. "Clearly you don't want to believe me, fine. So I'll spell it out for you.  
When have you ever known me to be wrong about deductions?" He didn't wait for John to answer. "Never. If she was just a family photographer why act embarrassed when asked about her profession? The sex industry is currently one of the most prominent industries in both Guatemala and the USA. Not to mention, there is this." He set down his violin and opened up John's laptop.  
Before John could question why it always had to be his laptop, he saw the screen. Somehow, and he was sure he didn't want to know how, Sherlock had managed to get access to Addyson's bank records. Every week, dating back several months, maybe even years, a thousand pounds were transferred into an unknown bank account.  
" I think that would cover a pretty nice flat here in London, now wouldn't you?" His dark haired companion asked rather smugly. John stared in disbelief at the screen,this couldn't be right. There had to be a mistake. Addyson was a good girl. There had to be an explanation for all of this, one that did not involve trading sexual favours for money, or having sex on camera. There just had to be a reason for all of it.

John's mind was not put to ease the next day when Addyson moved in. She had with her a couple of small suitcases and some camera equipment. In the process of unpacking one of the suitcases she left to take a call.  
In the other room John could hear her say," listen I can't, not right now anyways. I know we had a deal but I have to start paying rent now Logan. I'll get you the money as soon as I can, just not now."  
John tried to act nonchalant once she rejoined him in the kitchen.  
"Sorry," she smiled brightly,"that was the carpenter." She resumed unpacking the few kitchen appliances she had with her- a blender, a few mixing bowls, spatula and measuring cups.  
John made a mental note to look up what carpenter meant online, double check that it wasn't some kind of new slang for pimp. He didn't want to believe Sherlock. But after what he saw last night, and what he heard today, could it be true? He didn't want it to be true, it couldn't be true. Could it? Was Addyson working the street every night, selling her body to the highest paying customer


	3. Chapter 2

In celebration of Addyson moving in, they decided to go out for dinner a few nights later when she had a night off. Addyson let Sherlock choose the restaurant because he had been less than enthused about the whole thing. He had been even less thrilled by her when she called him "basically a private detective."

"I'm not a private detective," he explained in the cab on the way to the restaurant biting the ends off every word trying not to let his disgust at the very idea seep through. "I'm a consulting detective." His voice was level, but strained, as though fighting back against something, probably a few choice words about what he thought of her and what she did for a living.

Mentally John begged Sherlock not to say anything on the matter. The evidence was damning, but a tiny part of him still did not believe. Addyson did not act like a . . .Not that he knew what a . . . What they were like. Since Sherlock gave his evaluation of Addyson to him, John felt as though he was balancing on an unstable blade. The knots in his stomach would not untie and his heart raced every time Addyson and Sherlock were in the same room. He was just waiting for Sherlock to say something on the subject, but so far he had been good. As good as Sherlock could be.

"What's the difference?" She asked looking at John rather than Sherlock. She could feel Sherlock's contempt towards her growing. So much for resolving their differences. John was the buffer between them. Everyone needed a buffer when they first met Sherlock. Addy seemed like a bright kid though, she would catch on soon enough.

"A consulting detective is the one that the police turn to when they are over their head, which they almost always are, on a case. I don't simply run about exposing adulterous spouses- too mundane, too boring." Sherlock said. His expression, voice and intonation bland before he yawned. Telling Addyson he found her boring and tedious was losing its appeal so he settled for showing her, there was still some sport in that.

Addyson nodded, processing everything he just said before asking, " so why not just join Scotland Yard? Be an actual detective?"

John chuckled at the pained expression on Sherlock's face as he turned to face her. _He is engaging her in face to face interaction_, John thought, _this should be interesting._

" I prefer to choose the cases I work on, besides I can't work with too much stupid in the room, and most of the forensics _specialists_ they hire are absolute idiots."

Addyson said nothing. John could have sworn he saw her ears turn a scarlet red from either embarrassment or perhaps rage. He couldn't tell in the dim light of the cab. Either way he must have imagined it; why would something like that upset her?

" Speaking of too much stupid in the room," Sherlock started.

_Here we go,_ John rolled his eyes. Why? Why couldn't they have just one night of peace without him trying to start a fight with her?

"When are you moving? I find it rather unsettling having you in the living room all the time."

_There it is, _John groaned. Sherlock was becoming as predictable as the chimes of Big Ben.

Instead of answering his question she quickly posed one of her own. "Have the police come to you for help on any cases recently?" She asked.

"No," he said sounding bored. "They haven't. Rather unusual. But they will, eventually." He didn't bother looking at her as he spoke. He rather preferred look out the window and watch the city pass by than continue the mindless chit-chat Miss Briggs was trying to engage him in.

Again John noticed a change in her expression. A tiny, wicked smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she mirrored Sherlock watching the city roll by through the opened window.

Present company excluded, life in London was surprisingly pleasant for Addyson. Work was going well for the most part. She was working around the clock, and aside from a few slights and the occasional harassment from her coworker, a mildly competent man whose job she took over. It was hard to focus on what was going wrong. After all her time away, she'd forgotten the beauty of the city. The historic stone work buildings, the hustle and bustle of everyone on the streets, and the antique lamps lighting their way reminded her of why she wanted to work and live in London.

She could be anyone she wanted to be in London, no one would know her, know her family, know her history. Here she could simply be Addyson, and nothing more. It was a relaxing thought. Her life in the States gave her the same opportunities if not more, only no matter how she tried, America was not home.

Sherlock chose a nice restaurant. Italian. Dim lights hung over head, creating a deep contemplative atmosphere with the dark red and dusty purple interior. Large windows with black iron frames replaced an entire wall of the restaurant, the lights coming in from the street lamps only added to the intimate atmosphere.

Despite the mood of the restaurant, things between Sherlock and Addyson did not improve over dinner. Addyson constantly tried to engage Sherlock in conversation, but having already deemed her aggravating and unworthy of his intellect, Sherlock refused answer in anything but one-worded answers.

"So John mentions you two are business partners? That must help having an actual Doctor at the crime scenes with you?" She tried again after they gave their orders to the young waitress; who according to Sherlock, moved to London with her boyfriend, the relationship so fell apart shortly after she moved, he was cheating on her with her cousin, and she bought a dog to replace him.

_Enjoy the spit on your eggplant Parmesan,_ Addyson thought as the waitress angrily stalked off.

"I wouldn't say help. I solve crimes and he blogs about them- which does more damage than good most times."

"And what do you mean by that?" John asked annoyed leaning forward on his elbows. He was proud of his work on that blog; that silly little blog of his had gotten Sherlock more work than any of the stupid facts he had posted on his own website.

"Need I remind you of 'Reichenbach'?" Sherlock asked. "If you kept your stupid little opinions to yourself then maybe all of that could have been avoided."

The words had barely escaped Sherlock's lips before John's eyes turned to slits, and his knuckled whitened as he rolled his hands into tight fists on the table.

Addyson could practically see the cartoon steam come pouring from his ears as his entire body save his knuckles turned red.

" How dare you blame that on me. You have no idea what I went through after that! That was entirely on you!" John seethed flailing his arms about as he spoke.

Addyson had no idea what they were talking about only that her heart raced, and the blood in her veins ran cold. Things were about to get very ugly if she didn't do something, and quick. This was clearly a touchy subject for them. She only knew that if she did not insert herself into their discourse, she might have to work after all tonight. Here celebratory dinner was slowly turning into Saturday night at home with her parents. She could not go through that again.

"I'm sorry," she leaned over and calmly whispered to John, " but what's Reichenbach?"

"None of your business that's what it is." Sherlock snapped fiercely at her.

Had Addyson not known better, she swore he would have struck her where she sat.

The anger and something else poured through Sherlock's deep heaving breaths. His piercing blue eyes suddenly became daggers and they were trained on her. Addyson did not know what scared her more, the harshness of his voice or the sight of the usually calm and collected Sherlock Holmes so disheveled.

"Sherlock," John scolded. The exasperated tone of his voice indicated that this was not a new job for John. He was use to monitoring Sherlock; making him public friendly so to speak. So far he was not doing a great job.

"Well it isn't." Sherlock shot back. "I don't see what purpose she has prying into our personal lives." He muttered.

"I'm just trying to get to know my flatmates," Addyson explained innocently. That was a lie. She already knew what she needed; she was just trying to keep John and Sherlock from engaging in a fistfight in the middle of the restaurant before the complimentary bread arrived.

"Well if we're playing the 'get to know you game', then I'm sure you would be fine with answering a few questions about yourself?" Sherlock spoke rapidly. His eyes never left hers as he spoke. He had been biding his time until the topic came up so he could ask Addyson a few questions himself.

"What would you like to know?" she asked calmly pouring herself a little more water with a neutral expression. Smiling sweetly would only prove she had something to hide that she didn't want discovered. A neutral face suggested that this was business deal, she gives something about herself and he'll do the same. It was a game she played time and time again. She'd played with some formidable opponents in the past, but Sherlock might just be the most interesting.

"Lets start with how you're ambidextrous" Sherlock leaned forward as though he couldn't wait to hear the answer. Mocking her. "It's obvious that you were not born that way. You learned. I'd wager it was your left hand you had to learn to use. Not typical, most left handed people are forced in to learning right handedness, not the other way around." He added.

He was good, she'd give him that much. Starting off with a personal question, and then narrowing it down to specifics; pushing her to see just how much she was willing to reveal about herself. Oh he was clever. And he knew it too. That was her favourite kind of opponent in this little mental game of chess.

"You're right." She answered. No emotion in her voice. "I broke the scaphoid in my right wrist when I was eight. It's a very temperamental bone; John could tell you all about it. He could tell you how it takes a long time to heal because of limited circulation to the bone, which triggers the callous formation and osteon production required in healing bone." She briefly averted her gaze from Sherlock to John and then back again before continuing.

"Anyways, because of the slow healing period and the location of the fracture, I had to learn how to write with my left hand. A problem with the healing has left my right arm weaker than my left. It's still functional, but it makes any strenuous work or any significant weight lifting incredibly painful."

She was not going to tell him the full story; he didn't deserve to hear it. Besides she swore long ago those days were over, nothing more than a distant, bitter memory.

John sat, impressed with her anatomical knowledge of the wrist. Very few people knew about the healing complications of the scaphoid – even after fracturing it. Even fewer people understood the complexities associated with healing bone and bone growth. How did she know that? He had only learned about osteons and callous formation in medical school.

"An ambidextrous hooker; that must come in handy for work." Sherlock mused proud of his semi-intentional pun.

Leaning back in his chair John choked on his water. Why did Sherlock have to say something now? Right, because he was Sherlock, that's why. That was nothing compared to Addyson's reaction however.

Addyson stared in abject horror at Sherlock's allegations before becoming enraged. "You think I'm a what?" She hissed, her voice still loud enough for it to draw unwanted gazes of the diners sitting around them.

"A hooker. And it's not just me." Sherlock said looking bored, " John thinks so too."

"You think I'm a hooker?" She yelled turning to face John. Her face a basket of mixed emotions, hurt, betrayal, rage, disbelief, perhaps even a slight hint of amusement twinkled in her now green eyes.

People were definitely staring now.

John felt as though now would be a good moment for the world to swallow him whole. Perhaps he had been premature in calling Sherlock his best friend. Most of the problems in his life seemed to be somehow directly linked to his 'best friend' Sherlock Holmes.

"Well I never said those words exactly?" John stammered, avoiding the heated stare coming at him from Addy's direction. Was it warm inside? He was starting to feel quite hot. He tugged at the collar of his shirt to get some airflow. He felt as though he was simultaneously being cooked alive and choked. A rather unpleasant experience.

"Then what words did you use?" She demanded, the calmness of her tone mismatched the fury behind her eyes. She was beyond angry. She was livid. This kind of thinking she could accept from Sherlock; he seemed to have it out for her from the moment his eyes met hers, but John? That hurt. She honestly didn't know why she bothered keeping her job a secret anyways.

It wasn't that bad to her, but her mother. Her mother never could accept Addyson or her interests. So she forced her daughter to keep it a secret from people outside of the work place. And because of that, now her new flat mates thought she was some kind of prostitute. _Fucking Fantastic _She thought while downing her glass of wine.

"Well I never actually said. . . I mean I didn't mean . . . what basically happened was . . . I didn't believe it at first." He babbled.

"So what changed your mind?" She asked.

"Sherlock may have pointed some things out, and I maybe did not disagree. . .totally. . .at all. Addyson I am so sorry, I shouldn't have believed Sherlock, should I?" He glanced sideways at her. All she could do was glare back at him. " You're right, you're right. I shouldn't have believed him. I am sorry Addy."

Addyson couldn't hear John; she was consumed with rage. Never in her life had she been so offended by someone, never had she felt so betrayed. It had been years since she'd felt this kind of hurt and betrayal.

Did John really think so little of her that being a prostitute made any kind of sense? Was there something about her that screamed dysfunctional? Did she really come across as a whore? She was use to people calling her names behind her back and mistreating her, it was called adolescence, so why did it bother her so much right now? Maybe it was because this was a different kind of name she was being called, or maybe it was because of Cecily?

Addyson was lost in thought; she almost missed hearing her phone ring. "What?" she snapped into the phone after hitting the bright green answer button. The male voice on the other end caused her to soften her tone. "Sorry Sir. I didn't realize it was you. Tense situation right now, that's all. You need me in? No, no, it's all right. I know it's my day off, but right now I could do with the work. I'm just out for dinner, give me twenty minutes to pick up my camera and I'll meet you there. Just text me the address."

She looked back at an apologetic John and an amused, if not haughty, Sherlock.

"This is not over." She pointed a finger at John. She turned, walking away with brisk speed. She reached the door, but then turned around. She strode back to the table and swiped a glass of water off the table on to Sherlock's lap.

"Asshole," she said and then walked away, high fiving an elderly woman sitting with her daughter and some friends by the door.

John heard the old woman say, " you show him honey," as Addyson walked out in into the cold.

"Well thank-you for that." He muttered once Addyson was gone from sight.

"What are you complaining about, she didn't dump a glass of water in to your lap." Sherlock grumbled mopping up the puddle that formed on his seat.

"You quite deserved that," John said handing Sherlock another napkin.

"What? That wasn't good?" Sherlock asked, much to John's constant aggravation, sincerely confused.

"Yeah," John agreed, "not good. Not good at all. Not only did you seriously accuse her of being a hooker, but you dragged me in to it as well. I never should have listened to you in the first place."

"She didn't deny –"

John snapped. He couldn't take any more. "I don't care if she didn't bloody well deny it. She was probably too in shock to deny it." He yelled. "You don't do that Sherlock, you just don't." Feeling rather angry himself John got up to leave.

"Where are you going? Dinner hasn't arrived yet."

"I'm not exactly hungry anymore." John said before heading in the same direction as Addyson. Home.

Addyson didn't come home until the early hours of the morning. Orange streaks with dollops of pink smeared the grey and purple sky when Addyson walked through the door of 221B. She hoped that the hour of her return did not solidify Sherlock's theory in John's mind. It had been a long night, and their conversation at dinner still burned in her mind. Though the fire that had once fuelled her rage dwindled and was nothing more than a candle left too long to burn. A flame still flickered here and there but nowhere near as powerful as it had been when ignited. Exhausted, sore, and feeling weary of the world Addyson trudged up the stairs where she knew she would find no comfort.

She wasn't sure if she had the strength to listen to John's apologies. She knew Sherlock would not be making any. From the moment they crossed paths he vowed to make her life hell. And he was succeeding. All because she told him Billy was not a good name for the skull; he would have known why if only he had let her finish.

Wondering what fresh torture awaited her each morning was slowly becoming ritual as she climbed the stairs. Her first morning in the apartment it was three hours of violin practice moments after she crawled into her makeshift bed on the couch. The morning after that it was target practice with a Browning 9 mm just a couple feet from her head as she slept. It seemed that Sherlock Holmes was determined to make Addyson Briggs leave, either by choice or by body bag – so naturally she fought even harder to stay.

She did not expect what greeted her in the apartment. John was sitting at the table, in the same clothes as last night, and on the table were plates of food, eggs, sausages, pancakes, toast with various jams and spreads. Apparently in her absence John memorized the front page of an IHOP menu and recreated it in their kitchen.

"Glad to see you're home." He smiled up from his paper.

"Did you stay up all night?" She asked in disbelief.

"Wanted to make sure you made it home safe." John answered.

Addyson gently placed her camera bag down on the floor beside her chair and sat down. "You cooked all of this?" She asked looking up. She had barely lived there for a week and the most use that kitchen had seen was from Addyson herself.

"Mrs. Hudson helped," he admitted folding the paper and setting it on the table beside a plate of scrambled eggs. "I wanted to apologize for last night. For everything. You had every right to be angry with us, with me. I should have trusted that you are what you say you are, and I never should have listened to Sherlock. I'm sorry Addy. From now on I will believe you whatever you say."

Maybe it was the fatigue of a long night, or the delicious smell of pancakes and maple syrup, or maybe she really did forgive that easily – it would not be the first time – but she couldn't stay mad at him.

"Thank-you," She smiled reaching for a piece of toast. "I appreciate that John. I really do." She paused for a moment after taking a bite of buttered toast. "So what did he say, that made you so convinced I was a prostitute?"

John choked back his coffee. "Do we really have to talk about it?" He asked. He just wanted to put all the ugliness from last night behind him as soon as possible.

"Yes." She said point blank. "It must have been damning evidence to convince the great Doctor John Watson that I was a prostitute." She laughed emphasizing the I.

John chuckled along side her. Leaving out the bit involving hijacking her bank account information John explained every shred of proof in the case of Sherlock Holmes vs Addyson Briggs.

"I'll admit that does sound damning," She agreed after a mouthful of eggs. "I just have one thing to counter that." She smiled pouring herself a glass of orange juice. "That carpenter, my supposed 'pimp'" pausing to use air quotes around the word pimp she continued, "is my brother. You remember Logan, don't you John? Twin brother, thick brown hair, face full of freckles, could snap Sherlock like toothpick. Remember?"

It all came back to John. He had forgotten Addyson's twin brother, he had actually forgotten most about the Briggs' family after 'Ballistic Briggs' was discharged, but he did not mention that to Addyson.

"Logan is a carpenter?" John asked still shocked from this new revelation.

"Yeah," Addy nodded, laughing at John as he sat in disbelief.

"Addy, I'm so sorry how could I have ever doubted you."

Addyson dismissed his apology with a wave of her hand. " Forget about it. All is forgiven John, I would think I'm a prostitute too if I didn't know better."

"Just so we're clear, you're not . . ." He really did not want to finish that sentence and risk a repeat of last night.

"No John." She laughed, "I am not, nor have I even engaged in the sex trade." Slowly she sipped her cup of coffee before explaining. "Logan owes me a favour, that's why he is doing the job free of charge. A few months ago, while I was in the States he got himself into a bit of a gambling debt. Afraid to tell dad about it he asked me for help. I've been giving him money every month to pay off his debt."

And suddenly the world made sense yet again, except – "How bad of a debt is he in that he needs his younger sister to pay off. . ." John wondered.

"Eighty-five thousand quid." She answered immediately, voice flat.

"Eigh . . .eighty-five thousand?" John asked flabbergasted.

"Yeah," Addyson nodded. "So you see why we were keeping it a bit of a secret?" She asked raising an eyebrow.

John found it difficult to speak. Even with the extra money coming from Addyson it would take ages to pay off that kind of debt for a simple carpenter. No wonder they wanted to keep it a secret from their father. Ballistic Briggs would go, well, ballistic.

"So are you ever going to tell us what you really do?" John asked after he took a minute to let everything Addyson just told him to sink in.

"Well I was going to tell you guys last night, but now. We'll see." She smiled wickedly before getting up from the table and grabbing her bag. She walked over to the couch and hollered to John. "Get some sleep, you look like hell."

_You should take your own advice _John smiled as he rose from the table and begin to clear away the dishes. Lamenting that Sherlock and Addyson had yet to reconcile; he was grateful to at least repair the damage between them.


End file.
